Nothing Else Matters
by Brumeier
Summary: When Jim attracts a crazy stalker, Blair is the one in danger. Can Jim save his friend, catch the stalker, and get a handle on his feelings before it's too late? PreSlash/Slash Lite. Set in Season Two.
1. Chapter 1

**Standard****Disclaimer:**I do not own the characters, just the things I put them through.

**Please****Note:** This fic is set in Season 2, after Episode 18 (The Rig). This is pre-slash/slash-lite…you've been warned! LOL! Also, I'm not a cop nor do I play one on TV, so if there are mistakes made in police procedure (and I'm sure there are!) it's because I was too lazy to research. ::grins::

* * *

><p><strong>Nothing <strong>**Else ****Matters, **Bif Naked

_So close, no matter how far  
><em>_Couldn't be much more from the heart  
>Forever trusting who we are<br>And nothing else matters_

_I never opened myself this way_  
><em>Life is ours, we live it our way<em>  
><em>All these words I don't just say<em>  
><em>And nothing else matters<em>

_Trust I seek and I find in you_  
><em>Every day for us something new<em>  
><em>Open mind for a different view<em>  
><em>And nothing else matters<em>

_Never cared for what they do_  
><em>Never cared for what they know<em>  
><em>But I know<em>

_So close, no matter how far_  
><em>Couldn't be much more from the heart<em>  
><em>Forever trusting who we are<em>  
><em>And nothing else matters<em>

_Never cared for what they do_  
><em>Never cared for what they know<em>  
><em>But I know<em>

_Never opened myself this way_  
><em>Life is ours, we live it our way<em>  
><em>All these words I don't just say<em>  
><em>And nothing else matters<em>

_Trust I seek and I find in you_  
><em>Every day for us something new<em>  
><em>Open mind for a different view<em>  
><em>And nothing else matters<em>

_Never cared for things they say_  
><em>Never cared for games they play<em>  
><em>I never cared for what they do<em>  
><em>I never cared for what they know<em>  
><em>And I know<em>

_So close, no matter how far  
><em>_Couldn't be much more from the heart  
><em>_Forever trusting who we are  
><em>_No, nothing else matters_

It wasn't unusual for Jim to receive fan letters after a high-profile case; Simon often teased him about being the handsome face of Cascade PD. A few interviews with the news media and women felt compelled to write and express their gratitude for the job he was doing. They'd had to remove his e-mail address from the website to keep from cluttering up his inbox, which had helped weed out the all but the most dedicated fans. Joel had even started keeping a scrapbook of the more colorful letters, much to Jim's embarrassment.

After being featured in True Crime, which unfortunately had a very large viewership, more letters flooded in. Wendy Hawthorne had gone out of her way to paint a picture of him as a dedicated – and decidedly single – cop out to clean up the city no matter the personal cost. As expected, there were plenty of single women in the Cascade area who were happy to offer themselves up as potential girlfriends. Jim knew that in a couple of weeks interest would wane and the letters would stop coming, as was always the case.

This time, though, there was one persistent admirer who continued to send two letters a week after all the others had stopped. Jim threw them in the trash, unopened, but they didn't stay there.

"Man, she's got it bad," Blair remarked, reading the latest missive. Like the others, it had come in a bright pink envelope that smelled faintly of vanilla perfume; there was no return address.

"Get rid of that," Jim said dismissively, not looking up from the case file he was reviewing.

"She has a lot to say about your virility."

"Sandburg…"

"Okay, okay." Blair tossed the letter in the garbage and went back to writing up the report on a string of robberies that had just been solved.

Jim glanced over at him, watching his fingers as they danced over the keyboard. He wondered, not for the first time, if he shouldn't encourage Blair to give up his work here and go back to the university full time. The events that occurred just weeks ago when they were out on the oil rig were still fresh in his mind, and he found he couldn't stop picturing Blair lying on the deck with that antenna on him.

The anthropology professor was always putting himself square in the path of danger, had been from the day they met and he saved Jim's life. He couldn't help but feel that his partner would have a much quieter and safer life if he cut all ties with the PD. But Jim couldn't bear to even suggest it. Sandburg was more than his Guide; he was his friend and his partner, and Jim was a little uneasy at how dependent he'd become on the younger man. Hadn't he just saved his life again, pulling him out of that oil vat?

"Jim? You okay?"

"What? Oh. Yeah. Just thinking." He flushed, having been caught staring, and turned his attention back to the file.

An hour later he returned from a quick meeting with Simon to find a take-out bag from Wonderburger on his desk.

"Hey, thanks!" He clapped Blair on the shoulder.

"Not from me, man," Sandburg said, wrinkling his nose in distaste. "You know I wouldn't buy you those fat bombs."

Jim opened the bag, sniffing appreciatively. "Who dropped it off, then? Hey, my favorite!"

He pulled out a double bacon deluxe, spicy fries, a Dr. Pepper, and a small wedge of apple pie. The burger was still steaming.

"There's a note," Blair said, handing him a folded piece of paper. Jim frowned when he detected a hint of vanilla.

_Keep up your strength, Detective. I'll be sending you something else soon. D._

Jim put the note down and picked up the burger, sniffing it carefully. When he started to unwrap it, Blair snatched it from his hand, an incredulous look on his face.

"Are you crazy? You can't eat this! What if it's poisoned or something?"

"Smells fine." Jim made a grab for it, but Blair anticipated him and moved out of reach.

"Jim, I think you need to consider the fact that this woman is stalking you. I mean, letters are one thing, but sending your favorite lunch? That's a little disturbing, don't you think?"

Jim sighed. Sandburg was right, of course. Still, it was almost painful to watch his double bacon deluxe go back in the bag and straight into the trash.

"Come on, big guy. I'll take you out for lunch." Blair closed out of his report and grabbed his coat.

"Wonderburger?" Jim asked hopefully, following his curly-headed partner down the hall.

"Not a chance." Blair grinned. "But I may be persuaded to get you a couple slices of pizza."

With a put-upon sigh, Jim shook his head. "You're a cruel man, Sandburg."

"You'll thank me someday."

*o*o*o*

It had been a long day and Jim was eager to go home, put his feet up, and have a cold beer. Just before his shift ended, though, a call came in and he had to go. He called Sandburg to let him know he'd be late for dinner.

A body had been found in an alley off 3rd Street, which would have fallen into the jurisdiction of Homicide, but evidence found at the scene involved Major Crimes. That was all the information Jim had when he arrived. There were two cop cars on the street, lights flashing, and crime scene tape had been put across the entrance to the alley. Jim flashed his badge and ducked under the tape.

"Detective Ellison? Over here."

He recognized the Homicide cop, Ratner, who was standing over the body. They shook hands and then Jim turned his attention to the scene. The victim was a male. He was propped against the wall of the alley, his hands folded in his lap. He might have been sleeping if not for the multiple stab wounds to his chest.

"What do we know?" he asked.

"I counted ten stab wounds, but we won't know the full extent of the injury until the autopsy."

"He been identified?"

"Karl Weathersly, age 37. We've been trying to connect him to a couple of drug-related homicides."

"Looks like someone took care of it for you." Jim squatted down, taking a closer look. There wasn't much blood, which indicated that Weatherly had been killed elsewhere and brought here. "You find the primary scene?"

"Not yet," Ratner said. "But we did find this."

The Homicide detective handed Jim an evidence bag that contained a piece of paper. When he read it, his eyes narrowed in anger.

_Doing my part to help, Detective Ellison. Your partner, D._

*o*o*o*

"She left you a body?" Blair asked, wide-eyed. It was late, but he'd waited up for Jim. They sat on the couch, the room mostly dark except for light from the kitchen.

"We need to find this woman." Jim took a long swallow of beer.

"I think what we're looking at here is a case of erotomania," Blair said, looking thoughtful. "That's often the diagnosis of stalkers, particularly when the object of their attention is a stranger."

"Erotomania?"

Blair slipped into professor mode. "It's a delusion. This woman, D, believes that you're in love with her. That you have some kind of special bond. It's possible she saw you on TV and misinterpreted something you said or a certain look, thinking it had special meaning just for her. Her letters and…gifts, are a way of returning that love and showing you how much she cares for you."

"Great. Crazy stalker love." Jim rubbed at the back of his neck. "So how come she doesn't sign her name, if we're supposed to be so close?"

Blair shrugged. "If she sees this as a secret romance, it's possible she wouldn't want to give herself away to anyone around you. But if she's killing people – man, she's really gone around the bend."

"We can't trace her letters. It's local postage, but there's no return address."

"The vanilla perfume isn't going to be much help either," Sandburg said. "It's a really popular scent."

Jim sighed. "Unless she left some trace behind on the body or at the scene, we've got a whole lot of nothing to go on."

Blair got up and went around to the back of the couch. He started massaging Jim's shoulders, kneading the tension out of them.

"I guess all we can do is wait."

"Not a fan of waiting, Chief." Jim closed his eyes, enjoying the feel of Blair's hands on his shoulders. It was nice to be able to come home and really relax. Talking things through with Sandburg was always helpful; he was a good sounding board and often had insights into a problem that no-one else did.

"You need to be careful, Jim. This woman is unstable, and what she perceives as love could quickly turn into something else."

"I'm always careful about women," he quipped. Blair slapped him in the arm.

"Smart ass. I'm going to bed."

"Night."

Jim stayed up a little longer, trying to think of some way to track down his stalker. He made a mental note to send the next letter to the lab, see if they could get anything off of it. He kicked himself for not having thought of that sooner.

His lips quirked up in a grin when he heard Blair start to snore. He never seemed to have any trouble falling asleep, no matter the crisis. Jim looked over at the door to his room, although it was little more than a glorified closet. He loved the loft, he really did, but lately he was thinking that maybe they should look into getting a bigger place, somewhere Blair could have an actual bedroom with a bed in it. He felt funny bringing it up, though. Getting a new place, together, seemed like a really big deal. A big step. Was that something roommates did?

Jim sighed again and got up to shut the kitchen light and go to bed himself. Maybe he should leave well enough alone; Blair wasn't complaining and he didn't want to throw a wrench into their friendship, or do something to make him move out altogether. He liked having Blair there, to watch Jags games with, or just talk to at the end of the day.

He slid into bed, feeling a bit guilty that it was so big and comfortable while his roommate made due with the futon. As always, he tuned into Sandburg's heartbeat, which helped him relax like nothing else could. With that solid thump-thump in his ears, he fell asleep.

*o*o*o*

Two days later there was another body, and another note. This time it was a convicted pedophile who had reportedly been seen trolling the park where the kids played. He was found in the same alley, in the same spot, as Karl Weathersly. Instead of stab wounds, this guy had blunt force trauma; his head was practically caved in on one side.

_Helping you clean up the streets, Detective Ellison. Your partner, D._

Blair read and re-read the note, trying not to look at the body. Jim did his own sensory scan, blocking out the crime scene investigators and the coroner, who were doing their own jobs. Like the last time, there was no overt trace of the killer, either on the body or in the immediate area.

"We'll be setting up surveillance on the alley," Ratner said. "She comes back again, we'll catch her in the act."

"Anything back from forensics on the first body?"

"Weathersly was clean. Whoever this fan of yours is, she's good."

"Yeah. Well, no-one's _that_ good. She'll screw up and we'll get her." Jim cocked his head at Blair, who handed back the note and followed his partner out of the alley.

"You've got to catch her," Blair said as they walked back to the truck. "She's out of control, man."

"Gee, you think so Sandburg?"

"The level of aggression here is really disturbing. She probably killed this guy with the first blow, but she kept on hitting him."

"You noticed that too?" Jim got into the truck and started it up. "It was the same with Weathersly. The first stab wound killed him, but she nailed him nine more times."

"Crazy," Blair mused.

Jim drove them back to the station, and saw that his gifts weren't only being left in the alley. There was a box of donuts on his desk, and another pink envelope sat on top of it.

"Where the hell did these come from?" Jim bellowed, holding the box aloft. All talk in the bullpen stopped as everyone turned to stare at him.

"Bakery delivered them," Joel called out.

Jim tucked the box under his arm. "Come on, Chief."

"Where are we going?"

"To the bakery, to see who ordered these. We might finally have a lead."

Blair followed him back to the truck, pink envelope clutched in his hand.

"Do you know which bakery they came from?" The box had no writing on it to designate its origin.

"She knows my Wonderburger order. Chances are she knows I always use Stella's Bakery."

The truck roared out of the garage with a squeal of tires, and Blair clutched at the door handle to keep from being tossed sideways.

"What's the letter say?" Jim asked.

_My Dearest Jim,_

_I hope you have been enjoying my gifts. It's been such a pleasure for me to shoulder some of your burden, protecting the city like you do. You're not alone. I'll be your partner in all things, Jim, and the only one you'll ever need. Everything I do is for you, everything I am is for you. I'll be yours forever._

_Love, D._

"Nothing disturbing there," Blair said dryly. "Fits the erotomania, though. She sees her role as a caretaker. By killing these men she thinks she's lessening your workload."

"Great."

A few minutes later they were pulling up in front of Stella's Bakery. Jim strode through the door with the box in his hands, which he plunked down on the counter.

"Detective Ellison! So nice to see you." Stella Montgomery wiped her hands on a towel and came up to the counter. There was a dusting of confectioners sugar on her dark brown apron and in her curly red hair.

"Stella. This box was delivered to the department today."

"Oh, yes. One dozen sour cream donuts. Your favorite." Stella grinned. "Is there a problem?"

"I need to know who placed the order."

Stella tapped her finger against her chin. "It was a phone-in. A woman."

"How did she pay?"

"Credit card. I can get you a copy of the slip."

"That would be a big help. Thanks."

Jim waited patiently while she opened the cash register and retrieved the printed credit card slip. She took it into the back, where presumably she had a copy machine, and was soon back handing him a piece of paper.

"You're the best, Stella."

"Anything I can do to help."

Jim and Blair went back outside, Blair now in possession of the donuts.

"What should we do with these?"

"Keep one out. We can have it tested, see if it was doctored at all between the time it left here and arrived at my desk." Jim held open an evidence bag and Blair dropped a donut in it.

"Now we just need to run the credit card number and see who it belongs to."

"Okay. Let me just get rid of this." Blair looked both ways and then started across the street towards the nearest trash receptacle. Jim heard the sound of an engine revving and looked up to see a car headed straight for his Guide.

"Blair!" he shouted. His heart in his throat, he ran all out, snagging Blair around the waist and throwing them both down and to the side, rolling out of harm's way. The donuts went flying. Jim sprang back up quickly, hoping to get the license plate number, but the car had already sped around the corner.

"Oh, man." Blair lay on the street, one hand on his chest, trying to catch his breath. Jim pulled him to his feet, looking him over anxiously.

"Are you okay?"

"Aside from having a year of my life scared off? Fine." He dusted himself off. "Plate number?"

"No," Jim said angrily. "It all happened too fast."

"Thanks for the save."

"Maybe we should go to the hospital, just in case." Jim dialed up his vision, looking for abrasions or signs of broken bones. Blair gave him an odd look.

"I'm fine, Jim. What's with the mother hen routine?"

He shrugged, feeling foolish. "Just making sure you didn't damage that big brain."

"Very funny." Blair punched him in the arm. "Don't you have some police work to do?"

"Let's go." They crossed the street, Jim trying not to be too obvious as he hovered at Blair's side.

"Some people shouldn't be allowed to drive," Sandburg remarked as he got back into the truck.

Jim said something noncommittal, but he was thinking about his stalker and her latest letter. _I__'__ll __be __your __partner __in __all __things, __Jim, __and __the __only __one __you__'__ll __ever __need._

*o*o*o*

The credit card had been another dead end. It belonged to a seventy year old man named Horace Greene, who had lost it a week earlier but hadn't had it canceled. The second victim's body had also been clean of trace, and Jim was getting frustrated. Simon was making the stalker case a priority for the department, in conjunction with Homicide, but they weren't making any progress.

Blair had been busy at the university the last few days, and for that Jim was grateful. After the incident with the car he became convinced that D was trying to take out his partner so she could replace him. Sandburg thought it was just a coincidence and teased his friend about being over-protective.

Jim was going over the files on the victims for what seemed to be the hundredth time when the mail came. He ripped open the pink envelope as soon as he saw it, and felt himself grow cold when he read the latest communication from Crazy Town.

_Dearest Jim,_

_Sometimes the biggest threats are the ones right in front of us, and we don't see them until it's too late. I've been trying to help you, but he keeps getting in the way. I know you feel you can't act, so I will do it for you. There'll be nothing to come between us. I'm doing this for you._

_Love, D_

"Shit!" Jim hurriedly called Blair, but received no response to either his cell phone or his office phone.

"Ellison?" Simon came out of his office and Jim tossed him the letter.

"She's going after Sandburg. I can't get him on the phone."

"Go! I'll call Fletcher and Miles, send them to Rainier as backup."

"Thanks, Simon." Jim ran out of the bullpen and took the stairs to the garage rather than wait for the elevator. He tried to reach Blair several more times on his way to Rainier, but grew steadily more anxious when he couldn't reach him. He was reminded of the panic he'd felt when Lash had kidnapped Blair; the worst thing was not knowing what he'd be walking into, not knowing if he was already too late. By the time he reached Hargrove Hall, he had worked himself up to a fine state of nerves.

When he burst into Blair's tiny office, he found his partner sitting behind the desk, eyes wide.

"Jim? What the hell, man?"

Jim took a moment to collect himself, relieved that his friend was okay.

"I tried calling you," he said, wincing a bit at the angry, accusative way it had come out.

"I was teaching. I just got back like a minute ago." Blair came out from behind the desk and put his hand on Jim's arm. "Is everything okay?"

"No. I got another letter today. She's coming after you."

"What?"

"She wants you out of the way and…" Jim stopped. "What's that smell?"

"What smell?"

Jim walked around the office, sniffing, and zeroed in on one of the desk drawers. He opened it and pulled out a baggie filled with heroin.

Blair paled. "What is that? It's not mine, I swear!"

The Sentinel cocked his head, listening, and quickly stuffed the drugs in his pocket. Within seconds of doing so, there were two campus security officials at the door.

"Professor Sandburg?"

"Yes?"

"We need to search your office."

Blair and Jim exchanged a look, and Jim pulled out his badge.

"Detective Jim Ellison, Cascade PD. Can you tell me what's going on?"

"We've received an anonymous tip that Professor Sandburg is in possession of illegal substances."

"Professor Sandburg is a consultant to the Major Crimes unit, and as such receives regular drug testing. I can assure you, there are no drugs in his possession." Jim fervently hoped that the baggie in his pocket was the only one that had been put in the office. He wasn't sure he'd be able to sniff out pills.

"I understand that, Detective Ellison, but we have to follow protocol."

Blair looked pleadingly at Jim.

"Come on, Professor. Let's get out of their way."

They went out into the hall to wait. Blair stood with his arms crossed, his face closed and angry.

"I could lose my job over this, Jim."

"They find anything else and you'll be looking at jail time, Chief."

"I don't do drugs!" Blair snapped.

"I know that." Jim slung his arm over his friend's shoulders. "It's D. She planted them here and phoned in a tip. She's trying to get you out of the picture."

There was more than one way to skin a cat, he knew. He was glad that D hadn't tried something a bit more final, but ruining Blair's reputation would be just as definitive a blow. There'd be no way for him to keep working as a consultant, not with drug charges.

He tightened his grip on Blair, and didn't comment when the younger man rested his head on his shoulder. The Blessed Protector rose up inside him and he knew he'd do whatever it took to keep his Guide safe.

Twenty minutes later the security guards finished up and apologized to Blair for the inconvenience. The backup that Simon had sent had been dismissed, and Jim helped set the office to rights. With that done, he insisted they both go home.

"What about the…you know what?" Blair asked as he locked the door.

"I"ll run it over to the station later. Maybe they can trace it back to a specific dealer and we can find out who bought it."

"Sounds pretty thin," Blair remarked.

"Yeah, well, it's better than nothing."

They got in the truck and headed back to the loft. Jim was worried. Now that this attempt had failed, what would D try next? He knew it was stupid to feel guilty, but she was _his_ stalker, so that made it partially his fault that she was targeting his partner. It was a dangerous time to be his friend.

"Maybe you should get out of town for a while," Jim suggested.

"Yeah, right. And leave you on your own with this woman? No way."

"I'm not the one she's after."

"Not yet. But she will be, Jim. These things never end well."

"I just want you safe, Sandburg."

"I'm safe with you," he replied quietly.

Jim wished that were true.

*o*o*o*

The drugs, like everything else, turned out to be a dead end. But not for the same reason. They'd tracked that particular cut of heroin to a dealer named Gerald Lane, but he went missing for two days before turning up dead out behind a local food mart. The official cause of death was overdose, but there had been another note.

_You need me, Detective Ellison. D._

"She's getting angry," Blair remarked. "See how the tone has changed?"

"Good. She gets angry enough and she'll start getting sloppy."

Blair tossed the note on the desk and leaned back in the chair. "There has to be a way to force her hand."

"If you've got any ideas feel free to share them," Jim said wearily. It had been another long day and all he could think about was getting into his bed.

"There's nothing we can do here," he decided. "Let's go home. You feel like Chinese?"

"Sounds good."

They gathered up their things and headed for the elevators, only to be waylaid by Simon.

"Can I talk to you for a minute, Jim?"

"Meet you down at the truck," Blair said when the elevator doors opened. "Night, Simon."

"What is it, Sir?" Jim asked.

"How's he holding up?"

"A lot better than me. Damn woman has me jumping at shadows."

Simon nodded his understanding. "Well, here's a bit of good news. They pulled a hair from Lane that wasn't his. It's definitely female."

"Great!" Jim felt hopeful once again. "DNA?"

"No match found in the system yet, but we catch this woman and we'll have at least one murder to pin on her."

"Now we just need to catch her."

"We will," Simon promised. "You and Sandburg just be careful, okay?"

"We're trying," Jim sighed. He took the elevator down to the garage. As soon as he stepped out he knew something was wrong. He could hear Blair's panicked breathing, hear his heart racing. He hurried around the corner and for a moment was frozen in place at the sight that greeted him.

Blair stood next to the truck, his arms held out from his sides. He was covered in something thick and red, and for just a second Jim thought it was blood. His own heart stopped until the smell of paint finally registered and his brain kicked back into gear.

"Jim…" Blair whispered, his voice choked and his chest heaving.

"Take it easy, Chief. Everything's going to be okay." He made a quick call up to Simon, then fished an old towel out of the back of the truck; he kept it there for checking the oil. Very carefully, he wiped away the paint from Blair's face.

"What happened?"

"I was…I was getting in. Had my hand on the door. She was in the back, popped up like some psychotic jack-in-the-box." Blair took a gulping breath.

"Just breathe, Sandburg. It's okay. She dumped the paint on you?"

"I didn't see her face. Something over her head..."

The garage was soon crawling with cops and forensic technicians. Jim had them go over the bed of the truck for prints while he helped peel Blair out of his flannel shirt and the thermal long-sleeve he wore under that until he was left in a t-shirt and jeans.

"Shirts took the worst of it," Jim commented, continuing to keep his voice low and soothing. Blair had calmed down considerably but was still shaking. Someone handed Jim a fresh towel and he used it to wring as much paint out of Sandburg's hair as possible.

"I want someone checking the security feeds!" Simon barked. "I want to know how the hell she got in here!"

As soon as the truck had been dusted for prints, Jim wrapped his friend in a blanket and helped him get situated. He knew Blair would want to get cleaned up as soon as possible.

"We'll run the prints," Simon said, leaning in the driver's side window. "Hopefully you two aren't the only ones who left some behind."

"Call me as soon as you know," Jim said.

*o*o*o*

Blair didn't say anything on the ride home, and headed straight for the bathroom as soon as he got in the door.

"You gonna be okay?" Jim asked.

"Yeah, as soon as I get cleaned up."

"Do you need me to do…anything?" Jim asked lamely. He felt useless. Blair looked at him, one eyebrow raised; it was stippled with red paint.

"Like what? Scrub my back? I've got it." He paused with his hand on the door. "Why don't you call in dinner. When you get back from picking it up I'll be done."

"I don't think I should leave you alone, Chief."

Blair sighed. "I'll be fine. Lock the door when you go out, and I'll lock myself in the bathroom. Okay?"

"Blair…"

"Please, Jim. I just need…some time."

"Fine. You've got ten minutes and then I'll be back."

Blair went into the bathroom and Jim heard him lock the door. He suspected that his Guide wanted that alone time so he could have a little break down without his Sentinel listening in. He couldn't begrudge him that, but wished he could do something more to help. In his mind's eye he could see Blair standing in the garage, looking like a bloody nightmare. He put one hand on the bathroom door and let out a breath before going to call in the dinner order.

"Back in ten," he shouted. He locked the front door behind him and headed to the Chinese place down the street. He wished they delivered; he really didn't like leaving Blair alone.

While he walked he contemplated D's next move. Her last two attacks on Blair had been quite different – one calculating, the other seemingly just for shock value. Neither had been life threatening. Was she just trying to scare Blair away? He hoped they could find a print, and match it to someone in the database.

Less than ten minutes later Jim was back at the loft, unlocking the door. He could hear Blair in the bathroom, out of the shower and probably messing around with his hair. He hoped the paint had come out.

Jim stepped inside, kicking the door shut. He set the bag of food on the table and turned toward the bathroom. For the second time that day he found himself frozen in place.

"That you, Jim?" Blair called from the bathroom.

For a split second he was absolutely certain that he'd a panther was sitting just outside the bathroom door; the same one he'd seen before in visions. When he blinked the big cat was gone, revealing something much more frightening. Jim took in the whole scene, time seeming to have slowed down. Water was puddled by the bathroom door. Wires were wrapped around the knob, more wires resting in the water, all of them leading back to a car battery and an electrical outlet. And then he heard Blair moving towards the door.

"Blair, no!"

But it was too late. As Jim sprinted across the room, he could hear the snap of electricity. The lights dimmed. By the time he reached the battery he could smell burned flesh and singed hair, and hear Blair grunting in wordless agony.

Jim pulled the wires from the outlet. It took a bit more effort to yank the ones from the battery. The doorknob to the bathroom was warm under his hand but he couldn't open the door; Sandburg's prone body was blocking it.

Hurriedly fishing his cell phone from his pocket, Jim called 911 to request assistance, and asked the operator to contact Captain Banks at Cascade PD.

"Blair?" he called out fearfully. He listened for his friend's heartbeat, but instead of the usual thump-thump he heard a frightening fluttery stutter. Jim was all too familiar with that sound; his friend was in V-fib.

"Blair!" Jim forced the door open enough so he could squeeze through, knowing whatever bruises he put on Sandburg's legs would be the least of his problems. His partner was sprawled on the floor, wearing just his flannel bathrobe. His left hand and part of his left foot were badly burned and blistered. He wasn't breathing.

Jim knew he didn't have much time. CPR wouldn't be much of a help. He had to get Blair's heart back to a normal sinus rhythm and he had to do it now. He dropped to his knees next to the too-still body of his friend. He'd seen this technique used in the field when he was a Ranger, with minimal success, but he prayed it would work now.

Placing one hand on Blair's chest, Jim brought the other hand down in a fist, hitting him on the sternum as hard as he could. Blair's heart gave another stutter, then started beating again. It wasn't his normal, healthy beat, but he'd take what he could get at this point.

"Come on, Blair. Stay with me." Jim started resuscitation breathing, filling his friend's lungs with is own air. It wasn't long before he was back to breathing on his own, though his breaths were too shallow.

Jim listened for the ambulance, brushing wet strands of hair out of Blair's face.

"Keep breathing, Blair. You keep breathing."

So close. He'd been so close to losing him. Another minute or two, an extra moment of polite chit-chat at the Chinese place, and he might have been too late. He put a hand over his eyes, fighting back the emotion that threatened to overwhelm him.

"Keep breathing," he whispered, his other hand resting on Blair's forehead, thumb making gentle strokes on the smooth skin there. "I'm here with you, Chief. I'm here."

* * *

><p><strong>AN:<strong> _This __fic __started __with __the __song. __I __was __listening __to __it __in __the __car __one __day __and __thought __it __really __applied __to __the __relationship __(that __I __wish __there __had __been) __between __Jim __and __Blair. __The __actual __story __came __in __bits __and __pieces __until __I __had __a __firm __outline. __And __then, __surprisingly, __it __was __birthed __all __in __one __day. __Handwritten __in __a __notebook __until __my __wrist __was __about __ready __to __fall __off, __LOL! __Filled __up __an __entire __day, __and __the __very __early __part __of __the __next __one. __If __you __like __it, __I __hope __you__'__ll __let __me __know!_


	2. Chapter 2

**Part 2**

Jim sat beside Blair's hospital bed, holding his hand. Sandburg's face was covered with an oxygen mask, and he was hooked up to an IV and a heart monitor. His heart rate had steadied, but was still skipping intermittently. He hadn't woken yet.

"How is he?" Simon asked, stepping into the room and handing Jim a cup of coffee.

"Stable. Won't know for sure until he wakes up." Jim sipped at the coffee and pulled a face at the bitter, faintly burned taste of it.

The doctor had warned that the amount of electricity that had gone through Blair's system could have any number of side effects, some mild and some severe. Jim was hoping for the best, though in his experience that was rarely the case; Sandburg always seemed to do things the hard way.

"I have an idea for drawing out your stalker." Simon leaned against the foot of the bed. "But you won't like it."

Jim looked at him warily. "What is it?"

"She wants Sandburg out of the way. So we let her think her plan worked."

"You want to fake his death?"

"Listen, Jim. It's obvious this woman's watching you. She had a very small window to set up that ambush, and she was in and out without being seen. If she doesn't see you with Sandburg…"

"No. No way." Jim tightened his grip on Blair's hand. "I'm not leaving him."

Simon frowned. "Use your head, Jim! If she thinks Blair is out of the picture, she'll make her move. She wants you and that means she'll come to you."

Jim continued to shake his head. Leave Blair? How could he leave Blair? The Blessed Protector came to the fore, putting a fire in his eyes, but Simon put his hands out.

"Don't go getting all Sentinel on me. This is the best chance we have to get this woman off the streets and out of your life." He put his hand on Jim's shoulder. "She'll keep trying for Blair if we don't take him out of the equation."

Jim looked down at his friend, lying so still in the bed. It wasn't a hard choice, not when he took a breath and used logic. Lose Blair for a few days, or risk losing him forever. Still, the decision to relinquish his protection to someone else was not an easy one.

"Okay," he said quietly. "Okay, Simon."

"I've made arrangements to move Sandburg to a safe house, and he'll have around the clock medical care."

"What do I do?" _What __do __I __do __without __my __Guide?_

"You need to be seen. Alone. If she calls the station our people have been notified to report Sandburg's death. Hopefully she'll take the bait sooner rather than later, so we don't have to carry this too far."

Jim considered having to attend a fake funeral and didn't think he could do it. As for the rest, he was certain he'd have no trouble pulling off authentic distress.

"When will you move him?"

"We can do it within the hour, but you can't be here. We want her watching _you_, not us."

"Give me a few minutes?"

"Sure thing." Simon paused on his way out the door. "We'll take good care of him."

Jim nodded. He tossed his cup of distasteful hospital coffee in the trash and then leaned over the bed.

"Hey, Chief. Did you hear Simon's plan? Sounds crazy, but it might work. It means I won't see you for a while." There was a twist in his gut as he said that. "Only a couple of days, I promise. You just get better. Okay?"

He stood up, glanced behind to make sure the door was still closed, and pressed a kiss on Blair's forehead. As he walked past Simon on his way out, his emotions in a tangle, he said, "Call me as soon as he's settled."

*o*o*o*

The loft was a mess. The crime scene people had gone over everything, looking for fingerprints and anything else D may have left behind. Jim sighed, knowing he'd need to clean it all up, and went out on the balcony.

There was a time he hadn't minded coming home to an empty place, finding the solitude and quiet comforting. Things had changed. Blair had filled the loft with his exuberance and tribal music and green algae shakes. Jim had never thought of himself as lonely, but now he could see that he had been. With Blair, he had a fullness to his life he'd never had before.

Sandburg had turned his life upside down, and Jim could admit that it wasn't always easy. He had to give up a measure of his closely-guarded control, not to mention privacy. Blair fussed at him, nagged him, and was always putting his friend's needs first. Jim had never had anyone care for him to such an extent, not even his parents, and sometimes he was suspicious of it. He didn't feel he was worthy of such devotion, which made him push Blair away at times. But no matter what he did, his Guide never gave up on him.

Jim had gained so much since his acquaintance with Blair began. He had someone he knew he could count on, no matter what, and a level of loyalty that was absolutely staggering. He had friendship, greater control over his abilities, and the knowledge that someone had his back at all times. He just wasn't sure what he had to offer in return, feeling as always that their partnership was extremely one-sided.

"Damn it, Chief," he grumbled, running his hands through his hair. Blair had insinuated himself into Jim's life, becoming an integral cog in the whole works, and now he wasn't sure the machine could run without him.

With a sigh, Jim turned and went back inside. He got out the cleaning supplies – a special brand Blair had found that would be safe for him to use with his sensitivities – and started scrubbing up. The Chinese food he'd brought home hours ago went right in the trash and he was pretty certain they wouldn't be getting any take out in the near future unless it was delivered. He left the bathroom for last.

Jim stood on the threshold, cleaning rag in his hand. His too-sensitive nose could detect everything – the light cucumber scent of Blair's shampoo; the slightly fruity frizz control stuff he used to tame those curls; minty toothpaste. Overlaying all of that were the smells of ozone and burned skin. Clenching his jaw, he got to work. He tried focusing on the task at hand, but his mind kept imagining what Blair had gone through.

He'd seen someone electrocuted once, he knew what it looked like; that guy had bitten clean through his own tongue. And D had set it up so perfectly. Dumping the paint on Blair had ensured he'd be in the shower. He'd never have noticed extra water on the floor; he was a slob in the bathroom. The car battery had acted as backup, in case the power surge popped the circuit breaker. Wires on the doorknob and in the puddle gave the electricity two access points. All the moisture in the room – in the air, on Blair's skin, on the surface of the knob – would only have intensified the shock. The pain must have been excruciating.

All of these things went through Jim's mind as he cleaned, unaware of the tears rolling down his cheeks.

*o*o*o*

Jim stomped into the bullpen early the following morning, clearly out of sorts. He hadn't slept well without Blair's heartbeat to ground him, and the lack of morning banter would likely put his whole day off. One look at his stony face had most people turning and walking the other way.

He went straight to Simon's office, entering without knocking. The Captain looked up, instantly assessing Jim's mood with one look.

"Sit down."

"How is he?" Jim asked without preamble.

"He woke up, briefly." Simon hesitated a moment. "He asked for you before he fell back asleep."

Jim ran a hand over his face. He was relieved to hear that his friend was coming back to the land of the living but felt incredibly guilty for not having been there.

"This isn't going to work," he said.

"Jim…"

"I need eyes on him, Simon."

"We have rotating protection detail. He's safe."

"I need _my_ eyes on him," Jim insisted. "I understand that his location has to be protected. But I need to see him."

Simon took off his glasses and rubbed the bridge of his nose. "Give me some time to work something out. In the meantime, get out of here. You're supposed to be mourning."

"Right. Did she call?"

"Not yet."

"Keep me updated." Jim left the bullpen, stopping only to grab the file on D from his desk. Just because he wasn't at work didn't mean he wasn't still on the clock. He'd go over everything again; there had to be something.

Two hours later he was still running up against a brick wall and his mood hadn't improved. He swung by Wonderburger, then decided he wasn't really hungry and ended up tossing most of his lunch. He was relieved when Simon finally called.

"What do you have?" Jim asked, opening the door before Simon could knock.

"Hello to you too." He walked past Jim and set a black bag on the table.

"Sorry. I'm going a little stir-crazy here."

"Well, good news then. Your girlfriend called the station asking about Blair."

"Do you think she bought it?" Jim hoped so. He wanted all of this to be over.

"We can only wait and see. Forensics pulled matching prints off your truck and the car battery. No match to anyone in the database, but when we catch her it'll be one more thing to nail her with."

"And Blair?"

Simon opened the black bag and pulled out a laptop. "Keep this away from the windows; we don't want her to know Sandburg is alive."

He booted up the laptop and double-clicked one of the desktop icons. A video feed popped up on the screen, a little bit grainy and dark. And there was Blair, sleeping in a hospital bed.

Jim sank down onto one of the kitchen chairs. He studied the image on the screen, noting that his friend seemed to be in a more natural sleep. The oxygen mask had been replaced by a nasal cannula, but he was still tethered to the IV and the heart monitor; he could hear it beeping.

"Tech guys set up a webcam in Sandburg's room. You have picture and sound, but he doesn't know it's there. You won't be able to communicate with him."

"No, that's okay. This is...thank you."

"Anything to keep my lead detective happy. Just watch your back."

Jim barely noticed when Simon left. Now that he could see for himself that Blair was okay, some of the weight lifted from his chest. He dialed up hearing, a wide grin spreading over his face when he heard Sandburg's heartbeat.

After some consideration, he decided to put the laptop on the coffee table, directly in front of the television. Anyone spying on him would just assume he was watching the TV. Instead he watched Blair sleep while he went through the case file…again. He felt he could recite the thing word for word now. But a new idea was teasing around his head, so he placed a call to Simon.

"Simon. It's Jim. Listen. I've been thinking about how well D seems to know me, and how she was able to work with such a short window of time with Blair. You think she could be on the inside, someone in the PD?"

"I don't like thinking that way, but you may be right. I've reviewed the security tapes from the garage and she was able to avoid most of the cameras. Those she couldn't, she kept her head covered and face down. She knew where they were."

"So what's our next step here?" Jim asked.

"We'll start looking at personnel, but we'll have to do it quietly. I don't want to spook her when we stand a good chance of nabbing her."

"Okay, keep me posted and let me know if there's anything I can do to help."

"You got it."

Jim hung up the phone and stood, stretching. His appetite seemed to be returning and he wandered over to the fridge to see what his choices were. He was fairly certain that D wasn't an officer; it was just a gut feeling. There were plenty of civilians that worked at Cascade PD, though. One thing he didn't understand was why the fingerprints hadn't come up with a match in the database – everyone employed there had to be fingerprinted, it was mandatory.

He suddenly heard a low moan coming from the laptop and abandoned his search for food. He resumed his spot on the couch, leaning forward eagerly as he watched Blair blink groggily, his mouth pinched in pain.

"Jim?" he murmured sleepily.

"Chief," Jim said, rubbing his hand on his chest to ease the ache there.

"Nice to see you awake, Blair." A woman came on screen, dressed in a jeans and a pink scrub top. "I'm Sharon, your nurse."

"What?" Blair's movements were sluggish.

"Everything is okay, Blair. You're in a safe house and there are lots of policemen here to keep an eye on you." Nurse Sharon chatted easily while she checked Blair's vitals. "Are you having any pain?"

"Of course he's in pain! Just look at him!" Jim snapped, recognizing the futility of yelling at the laptop but unable to help himself.

"Where's Jim?"

"On a scale of one to ten, can you tell me your pain level right now?"

"Eight," Jim and Blair said simultaneously.

"I'm going to give you something for the pain. And one of the officers will tell you what's happening. Okay?"

Perky Sharon stepped out of view. Blair wiped at his eyes with one trembling hand. Jim thought he looked anxious and wished he could be there to help calm him down. They'd discovered that Sentinels – well, Jim, anyway – were very reactive to touch. His Guide's hand on his arm could go a long way towards focusing him, grounding him, pulling him out of a zone. But Jim knew that Blair was also a very tactile person by nature, and he'd been able to pull him out of a panic attack just by gently rubbing a hand on his back. He knew his friend would benefit from some of that now and cursed Simon and his plan.

"Okay, Blair. I'm going to give you some morphine, right through your IV port so I don't have to stick you with a needle. You should start feeling better in a minute or two."

Jim watched as the nurse injected the painkiller in the IV and anxiously waited for his friend to stop clenching his jaw.

"What is that?" Blair asked fearfully through clenched teeth.

"It's just some morphine. It'll help make you feel better."

Jim kept a close watch, noting the exact moment when the medication kicked in and the lines on Blair's face smoothed out. Nurse Sharon stepped out of frame again, and he could hear her talking to someone.

"He's a little muddled, which is to be expected. Don't be alarmed if he asks you the same question a couple of times."

The next person to come on screen was Joel, and Jim let out a breath. He was glad Blair had a familiar face there with him.

"Joel?" Blair whispered. "What's going on?"

"Hey, Professor. You're looking better." The Detective sat in a chair next to the bed.

"Where's Jim?" Blair asked again, sounding panicked. He clutched at his blanket with one hand, the other wrapped in gauze and held protectively against his chest. "Why isn't he here?"

"Take it easy, Sandburg. Jim's fine. He's still working the case, trying to find the crazy lady who put you in this bed."

Blair closed his eyes. "I was in the shower. I heard Jim come home. I don't…I can't…remember."

Thank God for small favors, Jim thought. He didn't want his Guide remembering anything about what had happened, especially the pain.

"It's okay." Joel looked off screen for a moment, nodded, and turned back to Blair. "That woman rigged something up to electrocute you when you tried to open the door. Jim saved your life."

"Is he…okay?"

"He's fine. Mad as all get-out though. He looked angry enough to wrestle a bear this morning." Joel chuckled and Jim shot him a sour look.

"Is he coming?" Blair asked, his eyes starting to droop. The painkillers were definitely kicking in. "Is Jim coming?"

"I'm sorry, buddy, but he can't. He can't know where you are, or else the crazy lady might follow him here. He's trying to draw her out."

"He shouldn't…be alone."

"We've got him covered. You just worry about feeling better and we'll keep Ellison out of trouble."

"Where's Jim?" Blair mumbled, mostly asleep. Joel patted his hand, shaking his head. Then he looked right at the camera.

"Hurry this up, would you Jim? The kid needs you."

Jim felt that tightness in his chest again. Even hurting and semi-conscious, Blair was worrying about him. No rest for the Guide. There was, however, some for the Sentinel. He plugged the laptop in next to his bed, and drifted off to sleep that night to the sound of Blair's heartbeat.

*o*o*o*

Jim spent most of the next day watching Blair. He was having lengthier periods of lucidity, and seemed to be in a bit less pain. At lunch time Nurse Sharon decided to let him try some broth and see if they could wean him off the IV.

"Let's sit you up." She pushed a button on the bed to raise the back, and adjusted the pillows behind her patient.

Blair handled the spoon awkwardly, dropping it several times before he gave up in frustration, arms crossed.

"I can't feel my fingers," he said.

"One of the side effects of severe electric shock is hypoethesia, which is just a fancy way of saying numbness. It should be temporary. Here, I'll help you."

Jim made a mental note of that. He'd have to ask the nurse how long that would last. Blair seemed to enjoy being hand fed about as much as his Sentinel would under the same circumstances, but he didn't complain. Nurse Sharon was plenty chatty for the both of them. She talked about her boyfriend Ryan, her trip to Hawaii, and her job.

"So, who's Jim? You've been asking for him a lot."

"My friend. Best friend."

Jim couldn't help but smile.

"Do you work together?"

"Yeah. Work together, live together. We're partners."

"Oh," Nurse Sharon said knowingly. "Well, I think that's refreshing. And he can't be here because of the police investigation?"

"Yeah." Blair looked away, but not quick enough for Jim to miss the disappointment in his eyes. The nurse patted his arm.

"I can tell you love him a lot."

Both Blair and Jim stared at her, surprised. And though he'd deny it if anyone asked, he was eager to hear Sandburg's response.

"Of course I do. But not like you think."

"It's okay, Blair. I'm not here to judge you. Nurse-patient confidentiality." She winked.

"It's…complicated." Blair sighed, running a hand through his hair.

"He doesn't know how you feel about him, does he?" Nurse Sharon asked softly.

But Jim knew. Of course he knew. The whole Guide and Sentinel thing could easily have been a straight business arrangement; that's what Jim had wanted at first. What they had now was hard to put into words. It was Blair consistently putting himself in harm's way so that he could watch Jim's back. It was the incessant nagging for him to eat healthier, to practice more with his senses. It was Blair researching products to find those most suitable for his sensitive skin, and doing his best to make their home a safe Sentinel zone.

He'd always been very clear on Blair's feelings. It was his own that were the question. Jim remembered when he found out the oil rig was set to blow, and how Blair had refused to save himself at the expense of others. He'd been utterly helpless, could only count down the seconds and pray for a miracle. He'd had no doubt about his feelings in that moment. The one thought that had played over and over in his head was _how __can __I __live __without __him_? When it was all over, he'd retreated behind jokes and house rules, never letting on how terrified he'd been. Never telling Blair how much he cared about him.

"It's complicated," Sandburg said again. Jim agreed. It _was_ complicated. But was it only because they were making it so? Before he could explore that train of thought, Blair grimaced and his whole body seemed to stiffen.

"Blair? It's okay. I'm getting you some medication."

Jim's own hands clenched as he saw tears leak out of his friend's eyes.

"…hurts…"

"I know. Hold on. This is completely normal. The pain will stop soon."

Soon turned out to be a very long minute and forty-two seconds; Jim counted. As Blair's muscles started to relax, Nurse Sharon wiped his face with a damp washcloth.

"See? Better now."

"Why?" he panted.

"Your body is still reacting to the shock you had. It will get better, Blair, I promise." Nurse Sharon patted his hand. "You get some rest, and we'll try more broth later. Okay?"

"Please…don't go," Blair pleaded.

"I'm right here. I'm not going anywhere." She sat next to the bed and held his hand. Jim turned away, feeling jealous and useless.

*o*o*o*

When the call came from Simon that there was another body, Jim was once again studying the contents of his refrigerator, this time looking for dinner. It was half-hearted at best; his appetite just wasn't up to par. Glad for the distraction, he went downtown. The body of a suspected rapist had been found just off Lexington.

_Full partners now, Detective Ellison. D._

"You know," Ratner said. "I'll almost be sad when you catch this broad. She's doing the city a service."

"Yeah, until she starts nailing litter bugs and jaywalkers," Jim replied.

"Suppose you're right. You guys any closer to a lead?"

"Working on it."

Jim went over the body. This one had his throat cut, deep enough so that he was nearly decapitated. He spied a long hair, which clearly didn't belong to the bald victim, and he bagged it.

"One more nail for the coffin," he said, passing the evidence to Ratner.

"Amen to that."

When he'd done all he could at the crime scene, Jim called Simon to report in. He was told to go home, and hopefully forensics would have an update in the morning.

On the drive back to the loft, Jim revisited the question of his feelings. He'd never been particularly attracted to guys – well, except for Finn Daniels in high school, but all he'd done was moon over the guy for a few weeks – and had in fact always considered himself a ladies man. But there was something about Blair that just got under his skin. They were polar opposites in almost every way, but somehow they just worked.

If Jim were honest with himself, he'd admit that he'd been distracted by those blue eyes for quite a while. At one time he tried writing it off as a Sentinel-Guide thing, but now he knew it was something more than that. It was the whole Sandburg package, the way he was always there for Jim. And there was no-one he trusted more. No one. So why did he keep fighting himself on this? Did he really have that big a need to fit in and be accepted by his peers? Would he think less of any of the men he worked with if they were involved in a same-sex relationship? He hoped the answer to that was no.

Jim shook his head, glad to finally be home. He parked the truck and hit the stairs, anxious to check in on Blair. But when he got to his door he knew something wasn't right. He hesitated, key in hand, and listened.

Someone was in there, moving around the kitchen. Food smells drifted out under the door. Unless Blair had a sudden, complete recovery and had come home to cook him pasta, Jim had a pretty good idea who was inside. He unholstered his gun and took the safety off, but was wary of going inside. What if she'd booby trapped the door?

Deciding he'd better call in reinforcements, Jim went for his phone but the door swung open before he could pull it out of his pocket. He got a quick glimpse of blonde hair and a sparkly white smile, and then he saw the gun.

"You're home early," she said. Before he could get his own weapon up, she fired a dart into his neck. Everything immediately started to blur and Jim grabbed hold of the door frame to steady himself.

"What…" he mumbled, struggling to keep hold of his gun.

"Hope you feel like Italian," she said before Jim's eyes rolled back in his head and everything went black.

*o*o*o*

Jim blinked, feeling slow and heavy. There was ringing in his ears and pain in his head and it took a minute for the cobwebs to clear. He realized he was sitting – well, strapped – in a chair at the kitchen table. There was something off about the light, and it took him a moment to realize that there were candles burning on almost every flat surface, filling the loft with a soft, flickering glow.

"Well, hey there sleepyhead!" A woman approached him, and Jim shook his head again. This was D? His crazy stalker? She looked like she'd just come from the country club, with her blonde hair swept up and the simple black dress she wore under Jim's jungle print apron. She was definitely familiar looking; he was sure he'd seen her somewhere around the PD.

"You must be D," he said, his mouth dry.

"Oh, now. We know each other better than that. It's Deanna."

"You cooked me dinner?"

"It was the least I could do." Deanna set two bowls on the table, each one full of pasta in marinara sauce. "You shouldn't work so hard. Leave the bodies to Homicide."

"It was the body you left for me," Jim said. He tried to assess his situation, though his head still wasn't right. He was duct-taped to the chair, pretty tightly, his hands lying uselessly on his lap. No gun. Crazy woman in his kitchen. It wasn't looking good.

"No work talk at dinner," Deanna admonished. "Here. I poured us some wine."

She came around the table, a glass of cabernet in her hand. She held it to his mouth, but Jim flinched away.

"Oh, now. I didn't poison it." Deanna took a swallow from the glass, and then set it on the table. "See?"

"Why are you here?" Jim asked. His stalker leaned against the table, arms crossed and a pleasant smile on her face.

"Why? Because you need someone to take care of you. There was absolutely nothing in your refrigerator." She made a _tsk_ sound. "You've already seen how I can help you professionally. I want you to see the domestic side of me, too."

"This would work better if I wasn't taped to my chair."

Deanna smacked him lightly on the cheek. "Aren't you the funny one. As soon as the garlic bread is done we can eat. Oh! We need some music."

As soon as she wandered into the living room, Jim started pulling at his restraints. Had she used a whole roll of tape? He was in a tight spot, literally. The only way out of this was to get his stalker to let him loose, and he wasn't sure he could do be that convincing; he wasn't known for being a smooth talker.

From behind him came the sound of CDs being thrown on the floor. "Deanna?"

"Just cleaning out our collection, sweetie."

Jim had a pretty good idea what CDs she was destroying. Tribal drums, aboriginal music from Australia…Blair's music. He could feel anger building up inside him at this blatant disrespect for his Guide.

"Oh, you left your laptop on. That's a real power drain, Jim."

He froze, not daring to even breathe. He'd left it on and closed the lid when he left, so that all he had to do was flip it up and hit the shift key to see how Blair was doing.

"You fucking liar!" Deanna screamed, and Jim was pretty sure she threw the laptop into the wall. Simon wasn't going to like that. She came up behind him, one hand in his hair painfully tugging his head back.

"I did all of this for you and you lied to me!" She pushed his head forward, and strode to the kitchen, her high heels clacking loudly on the wood floor. "It was a mistake. I should've ended him like the others."

"He's not a threat to you," Jim said, trying to keep his voice calm and reasonable when his insides were starting to twist with anxiety.

"He's a threat to _us_," Deanna said. She grabbed a large knife off the counter, weighing it in her hand. "He turned you against me and you can't even see it. This will be painful to you, I know, but soon you'll have your head clear and you'll see that this is right."

"Deanna, don't do this. If you hurt him, we'll never be together. _Never_." Jim willed her to listen, to believe him. And he jerked, startled, when he felt something cold touch his hand. He looked down and for a moment thought he was going crazy. Between one blink and the next he thought he'd seen the panther again. Was it real, or was whatever Deanna tranqued him with still in his system?

"Why do you want him? He's nothing!" She ripped off the apron, tossing it carelessly on the table so it covered one of the bowls of pasta.

"He loves me," Jim said simply.

"I love you!"

"But _I_ don't love _you_."

Deanna came up and backhanded him across the face, the ring she wore cutting his cheek. "You listen to me good, Detective Ellison. I'm going to kill this pest, and when I get back we're going to have a romantic, civilized dinner."

"You'll never find him. They won't even tell _me_ where he is."

She grinned. "Do you think I don't know where to look? Everything leaves a paper trail, Detective, and I get paid a handsome salary by the city to keep track of that paper trail. I'm not just a pretty face you know. Why else do you think my fingerprints didn't show up in the database?"

Jim struggled against the tape, furious and afraid. He couldn't help Blair, couldn't warn him. The almost frantic need to get free and protect his Guide was overwhelming. And then there was a chuffing sound from behind him, accompanied by a warm puff of air. As if a large animal were breathing on him. Something heavy thumped the back of the chair and he could hear the tape starting to rip.

"I want him to suffer, but for you…for you I'll make it fast. Okay, baby?"

Deanna leaned in for a kiss and Jim made his move. He brought his head forward, cracking it into hers and throwing her back against the table. The tape was half ripped – he refused to consider how that had happened – and it didn't take much straining for him to tear the rest of it. With silver bands of the stuff still stuck fast to his chest, Jim threw himself at his stalker and they grappled for the knife.

"No!" Deanna screamed. She brought up a knee, but Jim dodged the blow she aimed at his genitals.

One hand on her wrist, he put the other around her throat, bending her backwards over the table. She choked, face flushing dark red, and finally dropped the knife. Her next move caught Jim by surprise; she pushed herself further back on the table and brought her legs up, kicking him in the chest and driving him back.

Jim saw she was going for the knife and he tackled her, both of them landing painfully on the floor. One of the kitchen chairs went over with a crash. Deanna tried to squirm out of his grasp and he broke one of the cardinal rules of manhood – he punched her right in her pretty face and knocked her cold.

*o*o*o*

Nurse Sharon greeted Jim at the door, after he'd been cleared by the cops on duty. She was cuter in person, but for once he didn't have the slightest urge to flirt.

"You must be Jim. That looks painful." She pointed to the cut on his face, which had stopped oozing blood and was now swollen. "Let me clean that up for you."

"How's Blair?" he asked. The close sound of his Guide's heartbeat was reassuring, and he allowed the nurse to sit him in a chair while she cleaned his wound.

"Not bad, considering what he went through. His heartbeat is still a bit arrhythmic, but that should even out in a few days. The pain and numbness should decrease over time as well, but that may take longer. It's hard to know for sure."

"Thank you," Jim said. "Thank you for taking care of him."

"My pleasure," Nurse Sharon said with a grin. "There, now you won't scare him when he sees you. He's sleeping."

"I won't wake him," Jim promised. He didn't need her to tell him which room Blair was in; he could almost feel his presence as he got closer. He walked down a short hall and into the second bedroom. The beeping of the heart monitor and Blair's deep breathing were the only sounds in the room. Jim sank into the chair beside the bed, his vision blurring a little as he fought back his emotion at finally being reunited with his partner. All of his tension melted away now that he was finally where he needed to be.

Very gently he reached out and took Blair's hand in his, careful not to wake him. His friend's lips twitched, almost as if he were trying to smile. Jim watched him sleep, growing drowsy himself, and came to a decision.

It was time to stop screwing around. He was going to own his feelings, to hell with what anyone else thought. He wasn't going to waste any more time. He loved Blair, as a friend, as a Guide, and as something greater than both. He was going to stop letting the fears of the past dictate his future. Thus decided, he soon fell asleep himself.

Sometime later – hours or minutes, Jim couldn't be sure – he woke with a start. It took him several moments to realize that the pressure of Blair's hand gripping his back is what had woken him.

"Hey, Chief," he said when he saw that Sandburg was awake, blue eyes studying him closely.

"I thought maybe you were a dream," Blair said softly.

"I'm real enough, I guess." Jim grinned. "How you doing?"

"Little rough around the edges, man. But I'm okay." He looked at Jim's injured cheek. "Did you get her?"

"Yup. She was in the loft, cooking me dinner. Be a very long time before she gets to cook her own food."

Blair gave him a crooked grin. "That's good."

"You know, I've been thinking. The loft hasn't felt very secure lately. Maybe we should look for a new place."

"You want to move?" Blair frowned. "But you love the loft."

"Yeah, I do. But I don't love crazies coming and going as they please."

"Can't argue with that, I guess."

"Plus, I think we need two bathrooms. You take forever to primp in the morning."

"Very funny." Blair glared at him, but there was no heat behind it. "Did the guys tease you for getting beat up by a girl?"

"I don't care about the guys." Jim leaned forward, not letting him change the subject. "I want you to be safe. Nothing else matters."

Blair turned away and Jim could see the tension in his face.

"Are you in pain?" he asked anxiously. "Should I get the nurse?"

"I'm fine," was the curt reply. Jim sighed.

"I've had a lot of time to think during the last couple of days," he said. "You know, I don't know what I'd do without you."

"You'd be fine," Blair muttered.

Jim narrowed his eyes in annoyance and put his hand out, turning Blair to face him.

"No, I wouldn't be." He smiled nervously. "I know I'm not all touchy-feely with the feelings the way you are, but don't you know how important you are to me?"

"Tell me," Blair whispered, his eyes pleading.

Jim lifted their joined hands, pressing a kiss to Sandburg's knuckles. "I love you."

"Are you just saying that because I almost died?" Blair asked, voice trembling.

"I'm saying it because it's true. And because I'm not afraid to say it anymore."

The smile he received in response almost blinded Jim. Something inside him loosened and he took a shuddering breath. No matter how much faith he had in his relationship with Blair, he supposed a part of him was still expecting to be rejected.

"I love you too, big guy."

They sat there for a moment, grinning at each other like idiots, then Blair pulled Jim's hand closer so he could kiss his palm. His eyes were starting to droop again.

"Get some rest, Chief. I'm not going anywhere."

"Promise?" Blair mumbled.

"Sentinel's honor." Jim leaned over and kissed his partner's forehead.

"Missed."

He laughed, then gave Blair a quick, chaste kiss on the lips.

"'s better. You get her, Jim?"

"She can't hurt us anymore."

"Good," Blair said, and then fell back to sleep.

Jim sat back in the chair, feeling freer than he ever had. Things were going to change, but this time it didn't worry him. He still wasn't sure what the future had in store, but he knew he wouldn't be facing it alone.

"I love you, Blair," he said, just because he liked the way it sounded. He closed his eyes, rested his head on the back of the chair, and followed his friend's example by giving in to the stress of the last couple weeks and falling right to sleep.

* * *

><p><strong>AN:<strong> _I__'__m __a __little __anxious __about __the __Jim __and __Deanna __scene__ – __did __that __come __out __okay? __I __don__'__t __have __my __usual __sounding __board __and __action __sequences __always __make __me __nervous._

_So that was a pretty good ending, right? Yeah, I didn't think so either. So stay tuned for a short but fluffy epilogue!_


	3. Chapter 3

**Epilogue**

One month later, Blair and Jim had moved into their new apartment. Jim had done most of the heavy lifting; Blair still tired easily, but his recovery was progressing at a promising rate. The hypoethesia was hanging in there, randomly affecting his extremities, but the crippling pain spasms had mostly gone away. When they did come, Jim was always right there to hold him and massage his cramped muscles.

Now that the last box had been unpacked, they sat together on the couch, surveying their new living room. Tribal masks shared wall space with police commendations, fishing trip photos, and bookcases for Blair's extensive collection of reference materials. It wasn't as open as the loft had been, but Jim found he didn't mind the cozier feel everything had now.

Blair had spent a week Sentinelizing the new place and installing white noise generators; he wanted a safe haven for Jim to come home to every night. To help ease the Sentinel's mind there was a state-of-the-art alarm system on the front door, and a doorman downstairs to check in visitors. There'd be no one sneaking into _this_ place, not if he could help it.

"Don't think I didn't notice that we're only two blocks from Stella's Bakery," Blair said.

"There weren't any good apartments by Wonderburger," Jim replied. He closed his eyes and rested his head on the back of the couch. "We're closer to Whole Foods, too."

"That reminds me, we need to go grocery shopping." Blair started to get up but Jim tugged him back down, wrapping an arm around him and holding him close.

"We can do that tomorrow."

"Jim…"

"Tomorrow," he insisted. "We still have Simon's lasagna; we can finish it up for dinner."

The people Jim thought of as friends turned out to be exactly that. When faced with the change to his relationship with Blair they'd been understanding and supportive. Joel had expressed sincere surprise that they hadn't been a couple all this time, which had everyone laughing and helped ease things along. The Major Crimes unit closed ranks around them, doing their level best to keep speculation at bay. For their part, Jim and Blair kept on as they always had while at work, though a keen observer would have noticed an increase in fond glances and casual touching.

"Fine, but don't come crying to me when there's nothing for breakfast."

"Real men don't cry, and we can go out for breakfast."

Blair elbowed him in the side. "Real men don't cry? So I suppose those weren't tears I saw when the Jags won the playoffs?"

"Sports tears are the exception." Jim brushed Blair's hair aside and pressed a kiss to the sensitive spot behind his ear, making him shiver.

"Now you're just making stuff up."

"How's the hand?" Jim asked, changing the subject.

"Not bad. Just a little tingly." He flexed the body part in question. While he wasn't exactly ambidextrous, Blair had been working on using his non-dominant hand more often so that he wouldn't be totally helpless when the numbness came on. Jim knew his friend didn't like relying on him so much, and so he tried not to hover and jump in without being asked first.

Blair rested his head on Jim's shoulder. "I wonder how long it'll take to break this place in."

Jim pulled him closer and kissed the top of his head. "Already feels like home to me."

* * *

><p><strong>AN:<strong> _Just __a __little __dose __of __happy. __They __earned __it, __and __so __did __you! __Thanks __so __much __to __all __my __readers __and __reviewers!_

_And __special __thanks __to __the __person __who __introduced __me __to __Sentinel __in __the __first __place__ – __Smiles2Go. __No __blame, __only __gratitude!_


End file.
